


High Stakes

by AMaroonKindOfOrange (XylB)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, That's it, and a handjob later, blowjob, but that doesn't really need a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/AMaroonKindOfOrange
Summary: Simmons and Grif make a bet and goddamn it, Grif is not going to lose.





	High Stakes

“Simmons,” Grif whines, burying his face in his arm and his hips bucking up. Simmons chokes and forces Grif's hips down with his robot arm – fucking more powerful that it should be – and pulls up off his cock for a breather.

He goes back down with dirty wet noises and Grif groans. He peeks out from under his arm, but he can't look at Simmons for as long as he'd like to because they have a _bet_ and his _pride's_ at stake. And if he's gonna last five minutes and win the ten bucks he's got on that, he can't fucking look at Simmons. He'll blow it too soon if he does.

He really wants to, though, because Simmons is really fucking hot when he's choking on Grif's dick, letting the head push out his cheek so Grif can see it and – holy _fuck_ his throat is tight as _shit_. Grif moans brokenly and grasps at the bedsheets with his free hand, hips jerking up against Simmons' arm.

Grif peeks out again, only to see Simmons pull off of him, lips red and swollen from – god, Grif can't even think about it – from sucking his cock. Simmons's eyes flick up and look at Grif through his lashes (well, the human one does; robot one just kind of stares with its green light), and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he brings up his human hand and spits into it, lewd and dirty and pushing all of Grif's buttons.

Then Simmons sucks the head back in and Grif's mouth falls open, these little hitching-gasping moans leaving him. He feels a wet hand curl around his balls and _tug_ and a finger rubs up against his perineum as his dick pushes into the tight clutch of Simmons' throat. Fuck, Grif's gonna lose this bet if Simmons keeps deepthroating him like that.

And then Simmons fucking _swallows_.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Grif whimpers. His thighs tense and his arm flies away from his face so he can grasp onto the robot arm pinning his hips down as he fights down the urge to come because it's gotta be coming up to five minutes and he can last if he just – if he just -

Simmons swallows again and Grif's coming with a sharp “oh, _god_ ”, his fingers squeezing hard around unforgiving metal. He can feel Simmons' throat fluttering around him and Simmons pulls off choking and sputtering while Grif comes like a fucking geyser, groaning and babbling to himself.

“Ohhhh god,” he moans when his orgasm dies down.

“Four minutes and fifty-two seconds,” Simmons says, his voice hoarse.

“Fuck!” Grif slams a fist against the bedsheets and lets go of Simmons' arm. He opens his eyes and lifts his head to look down at Simmons.

“Guess you owe me ten bucks.” God, how can Simmons look that smug with Grif's come all over him? 

“Get up here, you asshole,” Grif sighs, trying to hide his smile but it's hard to when he's just had what feels like his soul sucked out.

Simmons crawls up his body until he's kissing him, letting Grif open him up and lick out his come until all he can taste is Simmons. Grif hums against his mouth and Simmons shivers, his hips thrusting forward abruptly.

“Oh yeah,” Grif drawls, pulling away from the kiss but staying close enough that his lips brush against Simmons'. “I should probably take care of that, huh?” He snakes a hand down and presses it up against the bulge in Simmons' sweats.

“Why the fuck are you so cocky? You just lost a bet.”

“But did I really lose, Simmons? I just got a blowjob.”

“I – I mean - “ Grif rolls his eyes and kisses him to shut him up.

“Just shut up and enjoy this,” he murmurs.

“O-Okay.”

Grif makes quick work of the drawstring in front and he doesn't even bother pushing the sweats down; just slides his hand in there and down the front of Simmons' briefs to wrap around his cock. There's a nice wet spot at the head and Grif swipes his thumb over it a few times to coax more slick out. He starts a slow rhythm, dry fingers stroking up and down to just – feel the weight and heat of it in his palm.

“'S a little dry, Grif,” Simmons mumbles from where he's hidden his face in Grif's neck.

“C'mon, I know you can make it a little wetter.” Grif rubs quick circles around the slit, making Simmons twitch and gasp.

Simmons always gets shy as soon as Grif gets his hands on him, no matter how dirty a blowjob he just gave – his hand's still spit-wet, for Chrissake's. He's also a lot quieter than Grif, can come almost soundlessly – Grif guesses it's something to do with hiding this shit from everyone his whole life, but whatever, that's not the important part right now.

Grif smears Simmons' precome down his dick and gives him a slow stroke, his fingers tight around the girth and that move earns him enough slick to start properly jacking him off, so Grif does.

He can hear the soft slap-slap of skin on skin and Simmons' panting as he widens his knees a little, forcing Grif's thighs open even more, but Grif doesn't really care. He slides his free hand down and pushes on the small of Simmons' back, forcing him into that curve that gives Grif's hand a really good angle. The rough pad of his thumb rubs up against the sensitive spot on the head and every time he does it Simmons tenses and jerks.

Grif starts sucking a hickey onto the join of Simmons neck and shoulder and he clamps his arm around his ribs to stop him _wriggling_ so much. He speeds up his hand and then Simmons is gasping, his hips following the rhythm of Grif's hand, and it's so fucking hot making Simmons writhe like this just with his hand that Grif's pretty sure he could get hard again. Instead he just tightens his grip and quickens his strokes – his arm is rubbing up uncomfortably against the waistband of the sweats, but fuck that, he's got a boyfriend to get off.

“Ngh, Grif,” Simmons warns, but Grif taps the sticky slit with his thumb and rubs against the underside of the head with two fingers and that does the trick. Simmons comes with a shudder and a hurt little moan into Grif's neck. There's hot splashes of come hitting Grif's wrist, and Grif smiles against the hickey he's made.

“Yeah, that's it,” he whispers, listens to Simmons' answering whimper.

Grif can feel the wet spot forming in the front of the briefs – probably soaking into the sweats and ain't that gonna be a bitch to get out – and he gives Simmons a few more tugs even after he's stopped coming. He stops when Simmons stops shaking, but he keeps his hand there, too lazy to move it yet.

Then Simmons slumps down on top of him, squashing Grif's arm between them, and Grif gently extricates it and wraps it around Simmons, ignoring the drying come on his wrist.

Grif'll never admit it to anyone but himself, but he likes the weight of Simmons' body against his. It's – comforting, reminds him of before the army when his little sister used to crawl into his bed whenever there was a thunderstorm.

Instead, he plants a wet messy kiss against Simmons' neck, laughing as Simmons slaps at him, grumbling “gross, Grif” but not moving yet. So he does it again, this time with tongue, and that makes Simmons say “fuck it” and climb off. He's looking for his shirt in the mess of clothes and Grif rolls onto his side, laughing. He watches as Simmons pulls on the shirt and wipes at his neck with the sleeve, making a face as he does.

“Aw, babe, don't leave,” Grif says through his laughter. Simmons just glares at him. “I want my ten bucks by the end of today.”

“Simmons, c'mon. Stay. Five minutes.” He gives him the most pleading look he can think of, and Simmons rolls his eyes but clambers back into the bed.

“We should shower,” he says as Grif presses up against him.

“Five minutes.”

“We should probably shower now before Sarge catches us.”

“Five minutes.”

“Now.”

Grif thinks for a moment. “Now and you sleep in here tonight.”

“Now and we sleep in my bed because your sheets are disgusting.”

“Hey! I don't appreciate you insulting my bed!”

Simmons sighs and rolls his eyes again. “I'm currently in a wet spot of my own spit and possibly your come.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, asshole.”

Grif flings an arm over Simmons' chest and uses his shoulder as a pillow. He feels Simmons start to move him, but he pipes up with “Jus' a minute, Simmons” because he knows they have to shower and he would really prefer to get the flaking come off of him and do this in a clean bed, but this is nice right now and Grif wants to bask in it.

Simmons humours him and threads his fingers through Grif's.


End file.
